


Stay Safe

by crossingwinter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: Just one curse.  Just one simple curse and she’ll be gone.  Blasted off the face of the earth.When had that idea become repellant to him?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 45
Kudos: 194
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	Stay Safe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsinthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsinthestars/gifts).



Just one curse. Just one simple curse and she’ll be gone. Blasted off the face of the earth. 

When had that idea become repellant to him?

~

_ Mudblood _ . 

He can tell that much about her the first time he claps eyes on her. It’s the trainers she’s wearing that give it away. He’s seen them on advertisements when he’s been on the Muggle side of London. 

It makes him angry to look at her, the casual way she flicks her wand and destruction rains, the easy way she uses magic as though it was something she was entitled to. (Never mind his own muddled lineage, first through his half-blood father, and then through his half-blood grandfather on the other side. He goes by Naberrie now. Kylo Naberrie. Ben Solo never existed.)

So he steps forward, signaling to the others of Snoke’s followers to  _ stop _ . To let him handle the girl. He is more than a match for her. He has always been a force to be reckoned with when it comes to dueling.

~

“Talk.” It takes him a moment to realize that it’s her again. Her the mudblood, the one who had slashed his face with his own  _ curse _ and he hadn’t even been able to heal the wound. The one the other Death Eaters mock him for losing to.  _ Mudblood. Auror. Skywalker’s pet, his favorite.  _ The last hurts more than the first; the middle is barely an insult because it means at least she is highly talented and highly trained and for her to have gotten the better of him…

His wrists are bound, as are his ankles. Not by magic but with what looks like an electrical cord.  _ Still reaching for her muggle roots rather than the destiny she stole from another wizard.  _ His wand sits on the table several feet away. She is crouched down in front of him and fire blazes in her eyes.

“Oh, you’re not getting that,” she tells him, her voice low.

“You think this is going to stop me?” he asks her, smiling. It is amusing, her thinking she can overpower him. No one can—except for the Dark Lord. 

“Seem to have done it twice now.” The look she gives him is easy. “Now talk.”

“You’ll find that I’m quite resistant to torture.” 

He means it casually, he means it to strike fear in her heart. Not even the Cruciatus Curse will loosen his tongue, make him betray his master. But instead the easy expression on her face slips into something he hadn’t expected, something that is far more disarming than waking up with his arms and legs bound.

“He tortures his own followers?” Yes, the concern is blatant in her voice. He hadn’t been mistaken in it.  _ A weakness to be taken advantage of. That’s all compassion is. _

Except…

“Of course he does—when we fail.” He looks up towards his brow where he knows the scar she gave him will be. She looks horrified as she stares at him. “Didn’t you know, Auror?” he demands. “What do they even teach you?”

She just stares at him and no—no— _ no _ he can’t abide pity. He has never been able to abide pity.

~

Rey. Rey Johnson. That’s her name, according to their spy in the ministry. Their spy had been in her year at Hogwarts too. Yes, his instinct had been correct—she was a mudblood.  _ Formidable, but might be bent. She is so desperate to prove herself, and that might be used as a knife against her. _

The Dark Lord had cocked his head. “It is an issue of blood,” he had said at last. The spy hesitates.

“She was adopted,” the spy said. “Abandoned by her family as a young child. She was  _ raised _ by muggles but—“

“But what wizard would abandon their own?” Snoke had asked turning away from the spy. “No. She is not to be turned. She is to be made,” and his eyes land on Kylo, “an example of.”

~

“Eggs?” she asks him.

“You going to untie me?” he asks back. His stomach is grumbling and she’s standing by the stove, still in pajamas. He’s on his third day of captivity, stiff, tired, hungry, humiliated. Nothing could be more humiliating than being  _ levitated _ to a toilet when he’d needed to use it. 

“Nope,” she says mildly. “You like scallions?” She adds them to the scrambled eggs before he even replies. A few minutes later, a fork is levitating in front of his face, eggs resting neatly in it, prodding itself towards his face. He opens his mouth with a sigh. Humiliating.

“Do you want coffee?” she asks.

“The fork keeps spilling on my lap. Don’t fancy the boiling water,” he replies.

“Fair enough.” The coffee smells so good. He wishes she’d untie him. 

“Why aren’t you torturing me?” he bursts out angrily after his third bite of eggs.

“Because it’s unforgivable,” she replies evenly.

“Dameron got dispensation for the aurors to use them. Power to kill, rather than capture.”

“Doesn’t make it less unforgivable.”

“Even for a Death Eater like me?” He tries to leer at her. This is exactly the sort of hypocritical self-righteousness that had driven him straight into the arms of his master. Justice for the “just” only.

“You’re the one denying my humanity. I’m not denying yours.”

And his breath catches in his throat.

Her face is so serious, her hazel eyes steady. 

“I’ll have some of that coffee, then,” he says at last, and she pours him a mug.

~

The Dark Lord is planning to take the Ministry. This much doesn’t surprise Kylo at all. Indeed, it is exactly what he’d expect. The Ministry is the only thing that could possibly serve to stand against the Dark Lord, and thus must be gotten rid of as a threat to his power. Luke Skywalker was too much of a coward to face Snoke in the field after all. Hogwarts wasn’t a threat. Hogwarts would be easier to take once the Ministry fell as well.

“For the man who defeated Palpatine in single combat, he sure has lost all his stomach for war.” Pryde sounds almost bored as he said it. 

“Skywalker is not to be underestimated,” Lord Snoke bites out. “He has managed to resist us time and time again, and all his staff are…frustratingly loyal.” His eyes land on Kylo.

“He would suspect me immediately,” Kylo said dully. 

“Even if you were Ben  _ Solo _ again?” He couldn’t tell if Snoke was mocking him or not. “Even if you had seen the error of your ways, wanted nothing more than to repent your sins? Atone for the murder of your father?”

“A murder he’ll never forgive me of,” Kylo bit out. “It would take me years to win his trust. You’d have better luck sending someone else than me.”

The Dark Lord let out a long hum, his gaze nothing short of disappointed.

But that wasn’t new. Kylo was used to being the disappointment.

~

“You’re keeping a Death Eater in your  _ kitchen _ ?” Finn Jackson—another name from the spy—hisses at her from the fireplace. Kylo yawns. The other Auror had stopped short when he’d realized they weren’t alone. “Rey, are you an idiot? Bring him in.”

But Rey had shaken her head. 

“What are you doing? You’ll get courtmartialed for this,” Finn moans. 

“No, I won’t,” she replies. 

_ Brave. _

_ Stupid, but brave. _

His mother had always said the same of his father.

_ I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it. _

He wants to yell. He knows— _ knows _ —that killing his father was a high act of dark magic. He shouldn’t regret it. It seals his power, his determination, his service to the Dark Lord. But the longer he sits in Rey Johnson’s kitchen, the more he can only think, endlessly,  _ this is a mistake. This was a mistake. Dad—I’m sorry. _

~

He toys with her the next time they duel. He knows she can be lethal now, so he won’t underestimate her, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun. She’s putting her all into it, snarling, and whipping her wand back and forth as he deflects curses lazily.  _ Powerful,  _ he thinks.  _ Deadly.  _

_ The Dark Lord wants her taken, not killed. He wants her as an example. _

_ And what an example she’ll be. My mother will turn her into a martyr— _

It’s a split second distraction—one that means her curse cuts his shoulder and sends him flying into the wall. His head cracks against the stone and then, nothingness.

~

“Why did you do it?” She asks it after he doesn’t know how many days. Her hair is getting longer and so she ties it into two short tails at the back of her head, layering one on top of the other. 

“Do what?”

“Kill your father?”

He’s never heard her sound this angry, and it distracts him for long enough to realize he hadn’t told her that. How had she known? From her anger, it sounds like she just found out.

_ Give in to your anger,  _ he thinks at her.

“Don’t you wish you could kill yours?” he asks her instead. “The filth that abandoned you—and for what?”

“That’s none of your business,” Rey snaps at him and yes, there are tears in her eyes. “You had a father who  _ loved _ you. What had he done to deserve your hate?”

“I didn’t hate him.” The words slip out of his lips before he can stop them. He shouldn’t be telling her this. He shouldn’t be saying anything at all. And yet the tears in her eyes—he doesn’t like that specific shine to her eyes.  _ Let me see her passion, not her pain. _

“Then why—“

“Because my master bade it,” he said dully. “Because my father wouldn’t turn. He chose his fate.”

“No,” Rey said. “You chose it. Just as you choose yours.”

And she left the room, leaving him alone on the floor again remembering the flash of green light, the rushing sound, and the way his father had crumpled as he’d fallen.

~

_ Just as you choose yours. _

The words ring in his head—hours, days, weeks—time blurs together in Rey’s kitchen. His wand is still on the table just out of his grasp.  _ Wandless magic,  _ he thinks idly.  _ You could try it, summon it to you.  _

Why hadn’t he before? Why doesn’t he now? The wand is definitely close enough that it should react to his magic if he’s careful. 

And yet he doesn’t try. He swallows the lump down his throat again. 

_ If I go back to my master,  _ he thinks,  _ it’s torture, maybe even death at my failure. _

If he stays in Rey’s kitchen, she’ll keep feeding him her mediocre cooking.  _ What is she doing? I should be in Azkaban. _

Except Rey’s with the Order. She won’t think Azkaban is safe for the likes of him. Does his uncle know he’s here? Does his uncle wish him this mercy?

_ I could escape so easily. _

And yet he doesn’t want to. 

He likes the view he has of Rey’s ass as she stands at her stove, the glimpses of her chest he catches through the v-neck of her t-shirt when she bends down to fish out a pot or pan from her cabinet. He likes her eyes, likes the way that—when she’s not angry, or sad, or digging in about his father—she treats him…

Normally.

She treats him well.

It’s confusing to him.

He’s sitting on her floor—she’d gotten him a large dog bed that was more comfortable than it had any right to be after the second week—his wrists and legs bound more frequently than not and he still feels like she’s treating him better than he’s ever been treated in his life. He’s not a servant, he’s not a disappointment. He’s a man. A criminal and captive, yes. But somehow, in that, an equal.

He’d never thought of her as his equal before. 

~

“What do you know about your parents?” he asks her at one point. She’s reading  _ The Evening Prophet _ , a tight expression on her face.  _ Who’s dead, _ he wonders.  _ Who’s missing? Does anyone ask after me? _

Probably not. His mother and uncle likely know exactly where he is, and the Dark Lord won’t care because he’s clearly failed. 

_ Just as you choose yours. _

She shrugs. “Nothing, really. Don’t remember them.”

“Were they wizards?”

She snorts. “Why do you care? Trying to make me magically not a mudblood?”

“You’re powerful,” he says. “It could come from a line—a mysterious line. A—“

“If I do, then I don’t want to know them,” she snaps. “They aren’t what made me strong. I’m what made me strong.”

And there it is, that ferocious anger, the one that always makes his heart stop. Except he sees something else there.  _ A thirst to prove yourself,  _ the Sorting Hat had told him before throwing him in Gryffindor, just like he’d wanted, just like his uncle. And yes, there’s that in her eyes but there’s something else.

“You need to know,” he says. “It eats at you, not knowing who they are. Not knowing why they threw you out like garbage.”

“You,” she begins icily, “can stop talking now.”

“You could always gag me. I am your prisoner.” 

But she doesn’t. She just stares at him angrily. 

“I could help,” he says at last. “I could try and help you find—“

“Find my parents?” she asks him. “You’re going to go through every muggle registry until you find a Johnson of the right age? That it?”

“I know my way around a wizarding geneology.”

“I’m a mudblood, and proud of it,” she snaps at him. “I don’t want your help.”

But when he wakes in the morning there’s a book by the dog bed and when he rolls over and manages to open it, he finds that it is, in fact, a wizarding genealogy.

He smiles, and sets to work.

~

“You’re not alone, you know,” he tells her one night. He’s halfway through the book and there’s no sign of a line for her. No trail, no hint. 

She stiffens, her back to him, and he wonders if he crossed a line.  _ Does she suspect duplicity? _

It should be duplicitous—an attempt to seduce her to his Master. But it’s not, somehow. Maybe because he knows no seduction will save her, or maybe because…because…

_ You have too much of your father’s heart, young Solo,  _ and searing pain that had flooded from the tip of his Master’s wand through him.  _ But we shall do our best to rid you of it.  _

She turns around at last, looking at him on the dog bed. “Neither are you,” she whispers back to him, tears in her eyes.

There are tears in his too.

He hadn’t let himself think about just how alone he’s always been until now.

~

The answer comes to him when he is nearing the end of the book.

_ Sheev Palpatine. _

He had had a son, and a daughter-in-law. Both had died without issue but the woman’s face is the same shape as Rey’s, and her lips, and—

_ Why would they abandon her?  _ He thinks angrily as he stares at the photograph. The Palpatines…they’d been driven out of England after his uncle had defeated their father. Was the son as mercenary as the father that he would leave their daughter behind? Did she prove no use to him?

_ If he thought she was a squib… _

He slams the book shut.  _ Mudblood and proud of it,  _ she’d declared.

He didn’t even know if he was right. He hoped he wasn’t. But it wasn’t a hunch he’d ever share with her. As if the name itself wasn’t a blight, but she was more than the name. She was everything she’d made herself, just like she’d said. He would spare her what little pain he could, especially when the hunch was completely baseless.

_ How old were you when you knew you were magical?  _ he wonders as he rolls over on the dog bed and stares up at the ceiling.  _ Did our world abandon you before we even knew what you would be? _

~

He is awakened in the middle of the night.

“Well, well, didn’t expect to find you here alive, Kylo.” The spy, sneering down at him from behind his mask. And his ties are unwound, his wand is handed to him. “Where is the bitch?”

“Out,” Kylo grunts. There’s nothing to do for it. If they stick around, lay a trap for Rey—

“Well, kill her when she gets back. Our Master is waiting for you. He doesn’t need an example of her, just her death. I’m sure you’re equal to the task, Naberrie.”

Kylo swallows, then jerks his head in a nod. He can do it.

~

Just one curse. Just one simple curse and she’ll be gone. Blasted off the face of the earth. 

His wand is leveled at her chest, her wand is in his hand. She hadn’t been expecting to be disarmed so of course it had been easy. She stares at him for a long while. 

_ And with a flick of my wand, my true enemy… _

He swallows.

Then he lowers his wand and his lungs fill with air again.

“What now?” he asks her and he sounds afraid.

~

Now it is Rey hiding in his house, behind a trick bookshelf that hides stairs that take her up into a part of the attic he hasn’t used in years. It had been easy enough to fake her death, and for him to go back to his Master. She had sent a message to his uncle— _ I think I’ve found us a spy! _ —and then they’d gone into hiding. 

“You’ll be safe here,” he promises her.

“Safe?” she asks. 

“Or as safe as I am.” He sounds calmer than he feels. He’s never been good at legillimancy, but this man had made him murder his father and Ben will be  _ damned _ if he lets him win. Oh the regret he feels coursing through him.  _ I can make it right, _ he thinks desperately. I _ can try to make it right.  _

And suddenly Rey’s lips are on his, her hands are around his neck. “Stay safe,” she whispers, her breath hot against his skin. “Please.”

“I will.”


End file.
